Humble Pie
by StarCollector88
Summary: The guys have an interesting Thanksgiving


"It's the most wonderful time of the year," Micky sang sitting down at the long table.

"Gee, I thought it was November," Peter put down the typewriter and scratched his head.

"It is November; Micky is just psychotic," Davy retorted.

Mike set down the armful full of papers he was carrying. "One holiday at a time please. Now pick up a pen and paper and get to work."

Micky cracked his knuckles and moved his neck from side to side. "Let this year's festivities commence! Operation: Mommy and Daddy!"

"Why must you label everything we do?" Davy shook his head and began writing.

"It's my shtick. Okay, what excuse are we planning this year? Sold out shows across North America? Eaten by a pack of hungry wolves? Pink eye?" Micky questioned.

"That's why we are working together to come up with letters. Whoever comes up with the best option we will all use it," Mike explained.

"Sometimes doesn't it seem to you all like the easier thing to do would just be to go through with things?" Peter asked.

Everyone stopped what they were working on and looked at Peter in horrified disgust.

"Or not…" Peter sank back.

"Listen, I'm sure it would be easier to just suck it up and go to Thanksgiving with our families…" Davy answered, "…but mentally it is a train wreck."

"We have done this for the past three years and it seems to be working well for us," Micky was scribbling feverishly on paper with a red crayon.

"Don't you think that our families would like to see us though?" Peter played devil's advocate.

"Shotgun, I'm sure they would and to keep the relationships intact, it's better this way. We have all agreed that our families are…"

"Annoying."

"Disrespectful."

"Prodding."

"Rude."

"Thanks you two, I was going to go with difficult," Mike said. "We are really doing everyone a public service."

"Yeah, okay, I know. I just feel guilty," Peter stated.

"Cheer up, Big Peter," Micky put his arm around Peter's shoulders. "Think of how guilty you'd feel if you went off on your family at the table."

"Or ran off to your room crying profusely," Davy added to which Mike threw a crumbled up paper at him.

All four continued to work silently, nothing but the sounds of pens scratching and typewriter keys being pressed were able to be heard. They did it this way every year. Everyone wrote letter drafts to send to their families with condolences about the inability to make it to Thanksgiving. They all chose their best work and presented it to the group. The winner was sent to all four families. It was working well for them so far.

"How about this:

_Dear Loved Ones,_

_I regret to inform you of my absence from this year's merriments. I have been selected for the prestigious honor of heading a research team in the South Pacific studying the migrating patterns of the elusive Tahitian Gray Duck._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Son."_

"Mick, since when do any of us possess the credentials to even be on a research team," Mike pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Also, since when do any of us speak that way. It sounds way too formal," Davy added.

"What about this:

_Dear Parents,_

_We have scored a gig headlining for The Rolling Stones on their tour of Europe. I am unlikely to make it home for the foreseeable future._"

"Don't you think they could fact check that?" Micky criticized. "That wouldn't work for Davy anyway, his family is in Europe."

"Wait a minute," Mike interrupted. "Why do we write a letter to your family every year for Thanksgiving when Europeans don't even celebrate that holiday?"

"My father lives in the States and has adopted a very Americanized way about him," Davy answered. "Don't worry about that though, what did you write?"

"Ahem:

_Broke my leg, can't come."_

"That's it?" Micky questioned.

"What? It's short and to the point," Mike said defensively.

"We are never going to think of anything good!" Peter put his head in his hands.

"Luckily, you all have me, the master of the pen," Davy gloated. He cleared his throat and straightened his paper.

_"__My Loving Family,_

_You may be anticipating my arrival this holiday season. Unfortunately, I am unable to come to the festivities this year. Our schedule simply will not allow it. My heart is heavy with sadness. Set a place at the table for me next year._

_Regards,_

_Your devoted son."_

"Where's the excuse? The illness? The expedition? The work?" Micky critiqued.

"Does there always need to be a specific excuse? I mean they don't ever ask about it, do they?" Peter wondered aloud.

Everyone shook their heads and stared at each other.

"It isn't much, but it's the best we've got. All in favor?" Mike announced.

Everyone raised their hands.

"It isn't much," Davy muttered under his breath.

"I would like to carry another motion to this occasion," Micky announced.

"Motion granted," Mike said shuffling his papers together.

"I motion that Davy write all our letters for us."

"What? You must be joking! Why do I have to do that?"

"Your handwriting is so much better than mine."

"Don't you think your mother would notice that she isn't getting your chicken scratch?"

"I think she would be impressed with the improvement."

"Well, no thanks, I have a date and don't have time to pen three more letters," Davy got up and dusted his hands.

"With Marla?" Mike questioned.

Davy thought for a moment. "Nope, Marcy."

Mike shook his head in disbelief.

"How about I take the original letter to the library and get copies made?" Peter offered.

"Sure, sure do whatever you want," Davy waved a hand at them as he grabbed a jacket.

"Thanks, Peter," Micky said beginning to make notes on the scrap paper left. "Do you think there are things to mine under the beach? Like diamonds? Or gold? They couldn't have possibly gotten everything during the Gold Rush."

Mike rolled his eyes. "You sure you don't mind doing that? I can write my own."

"No problem, Mike. I need to go there anyway," Peter gathered the original letter and stuck it inside a book he needed to return.

* * *

"Excuse me," Peter stated.

"What!?"

Peter had startled the elderly librarian behind the desk. She had to be in her 80s and wore thick lensed glasses. Peter looked around the desk. There were papers and books scattered everywhere, which seemed quite disorganized considering where they were at. And he was pretty positive that he had startled her because she was not awake.

"I was wondering if I could get three copies made please," Peter handed the letter over.

The librarian tried to examine the letter and moved her glasses back and forth from her eyes in an effort to see well. "It's so nice to see young ladies writing letters to our senators."

"I'm a guy."

"But you have such lovely long hair, honey."

The librarian walked back to a smaller room behind the information desk. Peter could hear the sounds of things being knocked over and crashing.

"Are you okay?" he called out.

"Oh yes, dear. I just think I need to get a stronger prescription," she shuffled back over and handed Peter the papers.

Peter stood at the counter and shoved the letters into the pre-addressed envelopes that he had gotten before he left so he could mail the letters on the way home.

"Thanks very much."

"You're welcome young lady, have a good day."

Peter shook his head as he walked out the door and placed the letters in the mailbox on the corner. He walked back home triumphantly. Another year in the books for avoiding the agonizing trip back home, though he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty about everything. It would pass though, because he knew that spending the holidays with his roommates would be much less stressful and therefore more enjoyable than seeing family.

* * *

"Okay, I got our spread all set up," Mike announced. "You've got your bread here, turkey lunchmeat, Swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, mayo, mustard, cranberry sauce, and for Peter," Mike gagged, "relish."

"Don't knock it til you try it," Peter said dipping his finger in the container and sneaking a taste.

"It may not be a gourmet meal, but it sure beats the pressure of seeing family," Davy said grabbing a jar of pickle spears out of the fridge.

"It's funny you know," Micky began slathering mayo on a slice of bread, "we've never even met each other's families and I'm sure there is tension in all different ways, but we can all agree that we'd rather spend time together. And I for one think that is beautiful."

Davy threw an olive at Micky's head. "Don't get all sentimental on us."

Mike picked the olive up off the floor. "Could you guys keep the food off the floor? I'd like to not have to clean up a disaster later."

There was a knock at the door and Peter went to answer it. Peter opened the door and on the other side stood a middle-aged woman. She was wearing bell bottoms and a crocheted vest over a flowy peasant top. Her long black mixed with gray hair was in pig tail braids with a bandana tied around her forehead. She dipped her blue tinted sunglasses down and looked at Peter.

"Can I…" Peter began before being interrupted.

"Is Moon Child here?" the woman asked.

"Um…what?" Peter was having a difficult time making a connection to what she was asking.

"Who's at the door, Shotgun?"

The woman stuck her head in the door passed Peter. "Moon Child?!"

Mike's back stiffened as he turned around. The woman ran in and stood on her tiptoes embraced Mike. Mike kept his arms down at his sides and had a look of annoyance on his face. The other three looked on in confusion at the display.

"Moon Child, I've missed you so much!" the woman exclaimed.

""Moon Child?" Micky blurted out.

"Mike!" Mike corrected the woman sternly.

"Now Moon Child is this any way to treat a guest? Aren't you going to introduce us?" Davy mocked.

Mike shot him a disapproving glare. "Guys this is Elizabeth…my mother."

Everyone else's' mouths dropped open. Straight laced Mike's mother was a hippie.

"Gypsy Spirit actually, not Elizabeth."

Mike face palmed. "What are you doing here mom? Didn't you get my letter?"

"I sure did, baby," she produced a piece of paper from her pocket.

Mike looked it over. The paper had white splotches all over it where certain words were marked out with some kind of liquid paper. The letter now read:

_"__My Loving Family,_

_You may__come to the festivities this year_

_Our _

_place. _

_Regards,_

_Your devoted son."_

"When I saw this once in a lifetime invitation, I knew I had to leave the commune and come straight here," Gypsy Spirit answered.

Mike's face hardened and he looked over at Peter. Davy and Micky had been reading the paper over Mike's shoulder and came to the same conclusion. Peter had messed up Mike's letter when he sent it. Peter had unknowingly invited Mike's mother over for Thanksgiving.

"Sure, mom. Thanks for coming. Will you excuse us for a moment…" Mike marched over to Peter who was cowering behind the staircase and grabbed him by the collar pulling him into the bedroom as Micky and Davy followed.

Mike shoved Peter down in a chair and began pacing the room.

"What in tarnation happened to this letter?!"

Peter looked it over. "I don't know. It wasn't like that when I gave it to the librarian. She must have spilled liquid paper on it."

"Sounds plausible," Micky offered.

"And you didn't check it before you put it in the envelope!"

"I-I…" Peter stumbled.

Micky put his arm around Mike's shoulders. "Listen, Moon Child."

Mike pushed Micky away at the comment.

"You know I don't think this is the peace and love attitude that would please your mother."

Mike went to clock Micky when Davy pulled him back. "Now Mike, cool it. What's done is done. I know that you'd rather your mother not be here but she is. Let's have this dinner and then she'll be on her way back to whatever planet she came from."

Mike relaxed his body a bit. "Easy for you to say it isn't like your family is here."

Just then there was another knock at the door. The four all flinched and looked at each other in wide eyed terror.

"Maybe it's just Mr. Babbitt?" Peter offered weakly.

"I would never be happier to see that man in my life," Micky answered.

They heard the door open and Mike's mom talking to someone. They immediately scrambled out of the room to see what was going on. Inside their living room was a rigid looking man in a stuffy suit and a woman that was dressed like a 50s housewife holding a casserole dish. A very stark contrast to the woman that had greeted them at the door. The man was scrutinizing the space with judgment when he locked eyes on the quartet in the corner.

"Son," the man nodded in their direction rigidly.

"Father," a reply from Peter.

The woman passed the casserole dish to her husband and ran over embracing Peter in a hug. "Oh my little, Petey!" She licked her finger and wiped a smudge of dirt from Peter's face.

"For God sakes, Carol, he's an adult don't treat him that way," Peter's dad complained.

Peter walked over a stuck out his hand to his father, who shook Peter's hand so vigorously that Peter's whole body moved.

"Son, you're looking sallow and impoverished," Peter's father criticized.

"Nice to see you too, father. These are my roommates," Peter said pointing to the shocked faces that were huddled in the corner.

Peter's father approached the other three. "So you're the people that are keeping my son away from fulfilling his potential."

"Oh come one now, Charles, be friendly. Hello, we are Peter's parents Dr. Charles and Carol Thorkelson."

"Thorkelson? I thought your last name was…" Micky was interrupted by Mike nudging him in the ribs. "Ouch!"

"Dr. and Mrs. Thorkelson, nice to meet you. I am Michael Nesmith and this is my mother Eliz…"

"Gypsy Spirit," she corrected before Mike even finished.

"And this is Micky and Davy," Peter introduced the other two.

"Looks like Peter got a taste of his own medicine," Micky whispered to Davy as he laughed.

"What makes you so sure you're not next?" Davy hissed.

Davy walked over to greet Peter's parents. "Charmed, Mrs. Thorkelson, may I take that dish from you?"

"What a fine young gentleman," Mrs. Thorkelson said as she handed the dish over. "Peter you never told us what fine young friends you had."

"And how you're living in squalor," Dr. Thorkelson grumbled still taking in the room.

Micky came around and put his arm around Dr. Thorkelson. "It may not be much but it's our own little slice of paradise."

"Don't do that." Dr. Thorkelson moved out of Micky's grip and moved over towards Peter. "Son, when are you going to come to your senses and finish your degree in business?"

"Charles, we agreed that we wouldn't use this opportunity to cause a larger divide," Mrs. Thorkelson whispered.

"Mind your business, Carol!" Dr. Thorkelson snapped.

Everyone was silent from the outburst. It was uncomfortable and no one knew how to approach the conversation from there. Mrs. Thorkelson looked as though she was near tears and excused herself to the bathroom. Peter moved far away from his father and started a conversation with Mike's mom about incense. Mike looked embarrassed by his mom's existence and retreated to the other side of the room trying to busy himself with nothing in particular. Micky and Davy sat on the couch watching everything unfold.

"You don't think that the same thing happened to all the letters, do you?" Micky asked.

There was a knock at the door.

"I'm gonna bet that is not someone selling Girl Scout cookies," Davy commented.

Micky went to answer the door. As soon as the door opened, Micky stood aside stiffly and raised his hand in a salute. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and looked on as a man and woman marched in. The man was wearing military dress and the woman had a stern look on her face.

"At ease, soldier," the man barked at Micky.

"Sir, yes, sir," Micky yelled going into a parade rest.

Mike wandered over with a look of confusion on his face. "Howdy, you must be…"

"Sgt. Jack Dolenz United States Marines," Micky's dad saluted which Mike hastily did in return. "And my wife, Mildred."

"These are my parents," Micky practically shouted.

"No need to shout, George," Mrs. Dolenz said.

"George?" Mike looked over at Micky with a glimmer in his eye.

"Shove it, Moon Child," Micky shot back.

"Private, aren't you going to introduce us since we are guests in your home?" Sgt. Dolenz commanded.

"Sir, yes, sir. These are the Thorkelsons, Gypsy Spirit, and my roommates Mike, Davy, and Peter."

"More long hair," Micky's father rolled his eyes as he looked at the three. "Private, why have you not gotten that hair taken care of? It is not honorable to a man to be gallivanting around with his hair looking effeminate."

"Sir, yes, sir, I'll go shave it off right now," Micky started walking towards the bathroom and was accosted by Davy.

"What the hell, man. Cool it," Davy walked over to Micky's parents. "So, what brings you to our humble abode?"

"We got a letter inviting us," Mrs. Dolenz produced the same letter that Mike's mom had.

"Had to come see for ourselves the life that George has chosen. Even though the military lifestyle would do him some good, give him discipline," Sgt. Dolenz added.

"No argument here," Mike whispered to Peter.

"Ah, will you all excuse us for a moment," Davy said pushing and pulling the others in the direction of the stairs.

Once they were securely in the upstairs bedroom, Mike turned towards Peter. "What happened to that letter?"

"Yeah, I had it all written out perfectly and now it looks like I can't even form proper sentences," Davy complained.

"When I gave it to the librarian it was completely intact."

"Was it the librarian that is ancient?" Micky asked and Peter nodded. "She can't see a thing!"

"I did here a lot of commotion when she was copying the paper…"

"So are we concluding that the librarian spilled liquid paper on the letter and altered in such a way that our parents think we invited them to Thanksgiving?" Mike wondered.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"This is just great! Instead of being away from the misery, the misery has come to us and now it's quadrupled," Micky threw his hands up.

"I don't know your parents well enough to say that being around them is miserable," Peter commented.

"And it isn't quadrupled, it's tripled," Davy replied. "I don't think my father would give this the time of…"

Davy was interrupted by a loud thumping from the front door.

"You have a guest," Micky taunted.

The four rushed down the stairs. Davy hung back at the stairs despite Mike trying to push him forward. Mike gave up and answered the door. On the other side was a short, debonair man in an expensive looking suit and rings on his fingers.

"'ello Chap! Reginald Jones, hotel magnate," the British man shook Mike's hand. "Does my son David live here?"

Mike shook the man's hand and stepped aside. "Yes, won't you come in?"

"I hope you have room, I brought Cookie and Candy," Reginald stated.

"Thank you, for bringing desserts," Mike answered.

"No, not desserts," Reginald exclaimed pulling two women to his side. "Cookie and Candy are my girlfriends."

The threesome entered the room and Davy approached. "Hello father, you're looking well."

"I would say the same for you my boy. You've grown into a fine looking young man. I bet the women are all after you as well," Reginald commented throwing his coat off with a flourish into Peter's arms.

Davy looked away and gritted his teeth. "Can I get you anything?"

"Yes, scotch on the rocks would be lovely, my dear boy."

"We don't have that."

"Nonsense! Open the door back up, I've brought a whole crew to make this Thanksgiving meal for us."

Davy opened the door and in flooded and bunch of workers wearing white chef coats and carrying bags of food and drinks. Mike and Peter were ushering them into the kitchen.

"Say old boys," Reginald addressed the other fathers, "how about a drink? David, a round of scotches for the gentlemen."

Davy went and began putting ice in glasses grudgingly. He was muttering under his breath as he did so. His father was introducing himself to everyone in the exuberant manner that Davy remembered and holding court in the living room with stories of becoming a self-made millionaire. Davy was gripping the sink in frustration.

"So then I told them that's not a stack of chips in my pocket, if you catch my drift, Reginald wiggled his eyebrows. There was a loud bout of laughter through the room followed by, "David, where are those drinks?"

Davy gripped the sink harder and felt a hand on his shoulder. Micky was next to him and began pouring the drinks into the glasses of ice.

"Man, why didn't you tell us your dad was so interesting…and loaded?"

"It isn't something I'm necessarily proud of."

"Why not? He's so cool. Look at those chicks he has. I bet he gets all the ladies," Micky whistled.

"He does and that's not something to envy," Davy answered. "Especially since he can't stick to one and ends up hurting others."

"The apple didn't fall far from the tree then did it."

"I'm nothing like him!" Davy snapped. "I may like girls and see a lot of them, but I'd never cheat on them. Especially when one of them is my wife that is dying of a terminal illness."

Micky stopped in his tracks and frowned. "What?"

"Nothing, never mind. Let's get these drinks out there before he asks again," Davy took the tray of drinks and went out to the living room.

Micky stared down at the bottle in his hands taking in the information he had just heard. No wonder Davy didn't want to see his dad. It sounded like the man was a womanizer that was cheating on Davy's mother while she was dying. You could have all the money in the world and look the part but still lack class. It made sense why Davy dated so many girls because it was what he had seen growing up, but Davy had more dignity about dating that Micky hadn't noticed before. Micky looked across the room and saw Reginald with each of his dates on one knee as Davy looked on in disgust. Those girls also had to be around his age as well. It must have felt like a slap in the face.

"George!" Sgt. Dolenz called from across the room.

Micky sighed and trudged over to the space where his dad and Mike were having a conversation.

"Son, Mike has been telling me about all these hijinks you've been getting yourself into."

"Like what?" Micky glared at Mike.

"You know all your 'brilliant ideas' and schemes. The Sargent here was telling me you did the same things when you were a kid."

"Yeah, the boy lacks discipline. He needs to be in the military to gain a sense of direction. Needs a real career that means something and not chasing all these pipe dreams and wild ideas. Tried to get him to enlist, but the boy can't be tamed."

"Tell me about it," Mike agreed. "I'm sure you and I could exchange some pretty crazy stories about old George here."

Micky grimaced and pulled away from the hand Mike had placed on his shoulder. Mike didn't even seem to notice.

Sgt. Dolenz laughed. "You're alright, Private Nesmith. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get a refill."

Sgt. Dolenz walked away and Mike watched him go. "That man has everything I would want in a father. He is so controlled and orderly. Seems perfect."

"Yeah, perfect," Micky answered sarcastically. "If you consider disapproval and criticism of everything you do and say perfection."

"Oh come on now, he only does that because he cares about you."

"If he actually cared about me he would take an interest in me and not an interest in degrading me. I have never gotten any form of approval from that man in my entire life."

Mike actually took a good look at Micky. He looked dejected and couldn't even make eye contact when he spoke. This Micky was a far cry from the Micky that Mike saw on a regular basis. It was as if his father's presence deflated any semblance of joy that Micky felt. Mike felt sorry that he was idealizing the person that made Micky feel so bad.

"Listen Mick, I…"

Either Micky didn't hear Mike or he just wanted to get away because he disappeared into the crowd of people before Mike said barely anything. Mike's shoulders went slack and he surveyed the scene. The chefs were working vigorously to prepare the meal. Davy was angrily staring at his father as he groped his two female companions. Micky's parents were chatting with the Thorkelson's. Micky had disappeared.

Where was his mom? He scanned the room for her. He finally found her out on the back deck with Peter. She was talking and making all sorts of hand gestures. Mike knew what that meant; she was predicting Peter's future with astrology. He rolled his eyes and refocused to notice something in her hand that looked all too familiar to him. Mike rushed to the back door and watch as she passed the item to Peter.

"Don't take that, Shotgun!" Mike shouted startling both Peter and Gypsy Spirit.

Peter looked down at the item between his fingers. "Why not?"

"Relax Moon Child! The boy is stressed out; he just needs something to calm his nerves."

"Yeah, I don't think Peter should be partaking in your pot stash while his parents are here!" Mike shouted.

Peter looked down at the joint in his hand. "Oh no thank you, Ms. Spirit. I don't smoke."

Mike snatched the joint and put it out on the concrete wall.

"Moon Child, you're really harshing my mellow," Gypsy Spirit said lazily.

"You don't need to 'mellow' when there are other people around!" Mike scolded.

"The energy here is so dark; I just needed to light it up."

"Light it up somewhere else."

Gypsy Spirit turned and walked into the pad. Mike was fuming. He turned to look out on to the water to try and calm his nerves.

"Hey Mike, go easy on her. She means well and she is a fun free spirit. I would love if my household was that fun growing up and not so conventional."

"Yeah it seems like all fun until you've gotta raise yourself, because your mother acts like a kid herself. She never could even hold on to a job. We moved from place to place and things were always unstable. All I could count on was that she was going to say or do something embarrassing that was only going to cause me grief."

Mike took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. He turned and walked back in the pad leaving Peter alone with thoughts racing through his head. No wonder Mike was as strict as he was. He never had a sense of stability growing up and he needed to be the parent all the time. That's why he parented his friends and was concerned about working steadily. The musician lifestyle wasn't exactly stable and at least it was better than what his mom was doing. Peter understood why Mike wasn't his mother's biggest fan.

Peter's thoughts were interrupted by the boisterous sound of laughter coming from inside the house. Peter glanced inside and saw Reginald standing up and twirling each of his girlfriends around as if he was showing off merchandise in a showroom. What Peter didn't see was Davy, until he noticed the back door open and Davy walk out onto the deck in a huff.

"What's wrong?"

"I needed to get away from my father he's disgusting. He treats women as disposable objects," Davy leaned in elbows on the concrete wall and joined Peter in looking across the beach.

"I can understand the frustration," Peter validated Davy's feelings. "I think we are all feeling the pressure of having our families here."

"I just wish he didn't have to act so much like…himself," Davy complained. "I've never actually known what a real relationship should look like. Never had it modeled for me. I envy the relationship your parents seem to have, it must have been nice growing up like that."

"Don't envy them; their relationship is far from ideal."

"What do you mean? Your mother seems devoted to your father."

"Yeah, she is. To a fault. My father is a pompous person. He thinks because he's a doctor that he is God's gift to the world. He orders my mom around. I don't even think they love each other and it's a relationship of convenience. He needs a trophy wife and the image that everything is okay in his life. She is afraid of losing her cash cow because she has nothing else to fall back on. It's all for appearances."

"My father is all about appearances too."

"Not in a fake way though. He's being himself."

Davy looked inside the pad at Peter's parents. His mom was bringing his father drink and he was berating her for doing it wrong. She took the glass and went to make it again. As soon as she came back and Micky's mom approached the couple to talk, it was all smiles. Peter was right. Longevity did not equal happiness. He looked over to his father that seemed to be having the time of his life with his flavors of the week. He was positive that those women only used his father for his money, and maybe ignorance was really bliss.

Davy clapped Peter on the back. "Come on, I think dinner is almost ready."

Everyone was gathered around the large table that was beautifully decorated by the hired help. The guys were all sitting with their respected families. It was a different atmosphere. Suddenly all the awkwardness and tension from before had melted away and everyone was civilized. There was no criticism, no glares, no arguments; just content looking people. Whether that was genuine or not didn't seem to matter right then.

Mike stood and raised his glass. "We appreciate everyone changing their plans for this year and coming over to our place…"

Davy coughed and Micky cleared his throat.

"It isn't often or ever that we all can get together and make new acquaintances," Mike continued ignoring his friends' obnoxious gestures. "Getting to know the families of my three best friends gave me new insight into them and for that I am grateful."

"Outta sight, Moon Child," Gypsy Spirit squeezed Mike's hand and he squeezed back.

"I guess I'm thankful to see that my parents are still together and willing to come and see me," Micky chimed in.

"Well said, Private," Sgt. Dolenz approved.

"I'm thankful for all the opportunities provided for me in life," Peter added.

"Indubitably," Dr. Thorkelson agreed.

"I'm grateful for all the traits I've inherited from my father," Davy concluded.

"Here, here," Reginald said taking a large swig of his drink.

"Alright, let's dig in," Mike announced.

The meal went off without incident. The guys were all appreciative of what they had instead of thinking about their family flaws. Sure, every family has its issues and sometimes other peoples' struggles can make you grateful for what you do have. It's easy to be concentrated on the negative and not realize the positive. Peter, Mike, Micky, and Davy realized that lesson during this holiday gathering. Things may not have been perfect but then again what is?

After the last slice of pumpkin pie had been eaten and most of the guests had bid their goodbyes. There was a sigh of relief that fell over the now mostly hushed room as Mike attempted to usher his mother out the door.

"Are you all sure you don't want me to read your auras before I go?"

"You can't my aura is in the shop," Micky joked.

"Thanks for coming mom," Mike said.

Gypsy Spirit embraced him. "Thanks for having me, Moon Child."

She looked at the other three and flashed them the peace sign before heading out the door. Mike watched her disappear into the November night. Then he slammed the front door and locked it.

"Never again!"

"Amen!" came three other exhausted voices.


End file.
